


Music Box

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Asch is Luke in this, Suzanne is a lovely mother, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's simple, but to a child, it is a whole new world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Box

It’s absolutely fascinating. Rounded edges, silver filigree, sparkling gems all come together to create something so small but so beautiful. It catches the light and dazzles the room in color, lighting the whole place up like a flaming wick. High on a shelf, a prize worthy to fight for, a secret treasure he will never be able to hold but can admire and dream about from afar. There are days he simply stares at it from his little corner, from his haven, and he wonders if it will ever change, or if it will remain static, like him.

He’s too little to hold it, too weak to do much of anything, really, but today is different. Today he feels like he might be able to walk, that he could possibly reach that treasure. He swings his shaking legs over the edge of the bed, pushes himself to his feet, and promptly collapses on the ground. He does not like it down here - rough fabric that scratches on his soft skin. He tries again, tries to get to his feet, and toddles, staying on his hands and knees. Each drag is agony on his legs, but he does it anyway.

His hands reach for the shelves, and he tries to lift himself up. Victory fills him with a foreign sense of pride that drives him on. He climbs, one foot and one hand at a time, and he is so small and the shelves are so large. He lays still on one of the shelves, shaking like a leaf and body screaming in protestation, but it’s so close, and he only wants a look, one look.

It’s like climbing a mountain, though this mountain seems far less stable than the one he saw in his book. He hears the creaking of the wood, never meant to hold up a child, and he doesn’t care, because he’s so close, so close, and when his hands hoist him up ever higher, until he is teetering on the top shelf, he nearly cries with exhaustion and excitement. It tips dangerously, and he nearly falls off, heart racing in terror as he looks down at the ground so far below. His world finally settles, and the creaking momentarily stops, and he glances around him with this new perspective.

It’s there, it’s there! Tiny hands grasp for the smooth box, and he lets out a happy sigh as he clutches the small prize to his chest. He doesn’t really know much about it, only that it is so precious, so important, and he wants to know how it can be so simple and so beautiful. He brings it over to him and turns it in his fingers, nails gently scraping the sides and fingers feeling the gems protruding. It makes a fine, high noise when he scratches lightly at it, but it’s not what he wants to hear.

He opens the top of it, the lid clicking back, and stares at the tiny dancer at the very center. She stands like he wants to with such grace and beauty, and he gently pokes her, watching as the spring keeping her in place wiggles back and forth. Her beautiful red dress, as red as his hair, sparkles as it too catches the morning light, and he clutches the small box as it begins to play. His shoulders relax and he smiles, a soft giggle escaping his smiling lips that are widened in delight.

It plays a melody he knows from every night, when his mother tucks him in and kisses his forehead, and he closes his eyes even as the dancer turns in her constant, never-ending performance. He loves this peace, doesn’t know what it means or how it works, but he curls up on the shelf anyway with his prize tucked against his chest, and he wants to stay listening to the music forever.

He is asleep when his mother inevitably checks on why the music box has not simply ended its tune. She pauses in the doorway, at first terrified her little boy is hurt or scared or stuck, and instead finds him peacefully sleeping on top of his little bookshelf, tucked against the wall. The music box in his arms continues to softly tinkle, the dancer’s dress flowing around her. She pauses for a moment as he her heart calms and then cannot help but chuckle quietly.

“If you wanted to listen to the music,” she whispers as she walks over and carefully extracts the box from his protective hold, “I would have been happy to turn it on for you, Luke.” She twists the key in the back, and the song begins anew. He grumbles in his sleep, hands reaching out for the box again, but she carefully sets it aside where it originally stood.

“Not tonight,” she admonishes gently. “Good little boys belong in bed at this hour.” Carefully she lifts him up, always surprised by how big he was getting, and carries him to his bed. She tucks him in and kisses his forehead, and he instantly settles with a soft sigh. His hair, long and growing longer, soon disappears under the blanket she draws over his shoulder. She brushes it from his face and smiles down at him.

“I love you,” she whispers, and gives him one more kiss that he at first squirms away from, “sleep well.”

With the music still playing in the background, tinkling away a melody soft and kind, she leaves the room with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart.


End file.
